No Longer Denied
by emeraldphan
Summary: Based on my POTO story, The Past is Another Country. Read a little of Erik's perspective as those strange events in Coney Island unfold...
1. Chapter 1

**This oneshot is a companion piece to The Past is Another Country, which is over on the POTO section of this site. You don't need to have read it to understand this story, but if you'd like to read it anyway, please go ahead! It's based on the original London production.**

**All reviews welcome!**

She is coming.

After all these years, I will see her again. Soon. Here in the bizarre world of Coney Island, no less, where I rule over a garish, noisy amusement park, instead of an Opera House.

She arrives this evening, on the Persephone, and will no doubt be met by a cacophony of nosy, loud mouthed reporters and photographers, all clamouring to record her first steps on to American soil.

But I will see her again, and she will sing for me once more. Soon my music will be brought to life again, and New York will forever know the name of Christine Daae, yes, Daae, for I refuse to think of her with _his_ name, the name of that foolish boy who has gambled away his fortune and made his wife desperate enough to accept an offer from an apparent stranger.

God, how I loved her! The only woman who ever kissed me, the only woman I have ever been intimate with… And even now, the heart that I once believed to have turned to ice is beating rapidly at the thought that a ship is currently crossing the Atlantic, finally bringing her to me. All those years, all those nights, of dreaming of her, wanting her with me… She will be mine soon, no matter what happens.

My heart still racing, I take the beautiful silver necklace that I purchased for her a few weeks ago from its velvet box and place it around the replica of my Christine. The automaton that looks at me with unseeing eyes, with _her_ eyes, that reaches out for me with stiff, lifeless arms… Soon, on the night of her debut here in Phantasma, I will finally place it around the neck of the real Christine.

And yet… so much has changed too. I am older. All three of us are older, of course. And they have a child, according to my source. A boy. Just one child… for some reason I thought they would have had more than that. No doubt he will be some pasty faced little aristocrat with annoyingly perfect manners and a cloying voice. Or a spoilt, selfish brat, but I cannot imagine Christine raising a child like that. Or he could be just like his father, Heaven help him. I wonder what my Christine is like as a mother? It is strange to think of her as a mother, when I can remember her as a lost, innocent child. But although eleven years have passed since I last saw her, my love for her has never changed. As if it ever could.

There is much to think about. I shall be watching them of course, when they arrive. How many times did I watch Christine at the Opera House, without her even knowing? Tonight I will see her, before she ever sees me. No doubt she will be just as beautiful as always, despite the passing years. And then I will reveal myself to her, when the time is right.

Yes, my sweet Christine, we will have so much to talk about tonight. And you will not be leaving me again. _ I_ will not leave you again. I should never have left you that night, that wonderful night that I will never forget. How many times have I regretted it over the years? I should never have let you leave my lair in the first place, after Don Juan Triumphant. I should never have let him take you away... You see, I thought he would make you happy, that he would take care of you. But now… It made my blood boil to learn about what he has become. He will not mistreat you again, believe me. You need to set free all the music that is within you, my Christine, and I alone can help you do that.

And the child, the little boy… _His_ son. Yes, I have to think of him too. I could send him home to France with his father afterwards, perhaps. But what about Christine? No, she would never forgive me. Despite the cynical shell that has grown around me over the last decade, I am not yet heartless enough to part a mother from her child. So I have decided, after much consideration, that the boy will stay with us. I will raise the vicomte's son as my own, if it means that my angel will stay with me forever.

My plan is in place. Everything has been thought out carefully, ever since I received that polite, formal reply from an unsuspecting Christine, accepting my invitation. Feeling more satisfied than I have done for a long time, I reluctantly put away my automaton, replace my mask and wait for my lackeys to arrive. And they are right on time, as usual.

It is remarkable how little I know of these three people standing before me, Miss Fleck, Dr Gangle, and Mr Squelch, known around Phantasma as the Trio. All of them came here to escape from something, but what? After all, why else would they be here, wearing strange costumes and adopting even stranger personas, if not to hide their true selves from the public? And yet, they are three of my most loyal workers, all of them grateful for the little I give them; the tiny caravans they occupy at the back of the park, away from prying eyes, for the chance to earn a living doing something they clearly enjoy.

I welcome them, and thank them for coming. As ever, they wait patiently for their instructions.

"You are aware that Christine Daae is making her American debut here in the Phantasma theatre?"

They nod. Most of New York must know by now.

"She and her family will be arriving on the Persephone this evening, into Pier 66, at 7p.m," I tell them gravely, having checked and re-checked all the details with the shipping company. "You will go and meet them at the pier and bring them here, to the hotel."

"Yes, sir," they reply in unison, as they often do. Sometimes, when I'm in one of my better moods, this can be quite amusing.

"You will take the golden carriage. You know the one I mean." Now, I could easily have arranged for a regular horse drawn cab to meet them, but why would I? This is Phantasma after all. "And you will meet them in character, of course."

Suddenly their attempts to act in unison are abandoned as they throw objections at me. Miss Fleck manages to get a word in edgeways.

"Sir, you can't mean that! Are you asking us to go _in character_ to a public place, with the golden carriage?" She glances fearfully at her comrades, who are also looking uncertain.

"The docks are not Coney Island," she continues nervously. "There will be reporters and photographers everywhere! All those people…"

I smirk. "Well, it will give them something new to gawp at, will it not? And if it annoys the vicomte, so much the better. In any case, no-one will be able to ignore the Vicomtess' arrival."

Finally, and with irritating reluctance, they agree.

"It will be a fairly long journey from the docks to the hotel, will it not? So please, feel free to entertain them in your usual manner," I continue, enjoying this moment, "Bring them to the front door and my hotel staff will look after them from there. And remember to put the carriage away before you retire to bed. I look forward to hearing about the vicomte's reaction at a later stage," I tell them with a smug grin. "The vicomtess' trip to Coney Island begins the moment she sets foot on the dockside," I continue emphatically, my excitement rising within my chest, "All of New York will remember the American debut of Christine Daae for years to come!"

Once my instructions are clear to them, they turn to leave. But it suddenly occurs to me that there was something else I meant to do. I call them back, take a large, gift-wrapped box from a nearby table and hand it to Miss Fleck.

"The vicomtess has a young son. You are to give him this present from me. A little Phantasma token, a sort of welcome present if you like. Just in case you scare him with your… performance. His parents' gifts will be placed in their hotel room." I have already briefed the hotel employees who will be on hand to cater to the family's every need during the course of their trip.

Miss Fleck nods. For some reason I feel she is the appropriate choice to give a present to a child. Perhaps because she is a woman, although, like the other pair she has always seemed curiously… sexless. But giving the boy his own special present seems the least I can do, in the circumstances…

They leave and I find I cannot settle at anything, not my music, not my designs. No work will be done today I feel. Thankfully my manager is very efficient and will probably not need me today as I would be of little use to him. My whole body is in a state of heightened anticipation as I wish for the hours to pass faster, so that I may take my place behind that mirror. The rest of my life will be determined by the next few days. The rest of _our_ lives.

She is coming… she is coming…


	2. Chapter 2

**i decided to add another chapter, although it's not going to be a very long story. It's just to give you an insight into what Erik is thinking at key moments. Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed the first chapter - I really appreciate it.**

They say a fool and his money are soon parted and here on Coney Island, never was a truer word spoken.

Day after day they come, all summer long, by train and steamship, moving like ants around the crowded streets, all headed for the big amusement parks. Lured by noise and spectacle, some of these hordes descend upon my park, all eager to spend their hard earned money on rides that last for a few minutes, on shoddily produced miniature replicas of the Statue of Liberty, on Coney Island Candy, which they will doubtless bring home to their friends as proof they were here.

Who are they? What do they do for entertainment the rest of the year? Are their lives so empty that they crave such garish entertainment and escapism? Occasionally I find myself thinking over these questions as I look down from my tower over my kingdom. Watching, always watching.

It hardly matters any more. The only visitor I care about is here.

Yes, she is here. I can see the carriage moving in the distance, bringing my Christine to Phantasma. It would be harder _not_ to see it, after all. My heart is racing, but I must control myself. When I have placed my cloak around my shoulders with trembling hands, I hurry down the staircase and make my way to the hotel by one of my secret underground passageways. As I emerge at the side of the building, I see the carriage stop outside the hotel and hide quickly within earshot as the Trio climb out. I can hardly resist smirking as I overhear the vicomte complaining to Mr Squelch about how he is handling his family's luggage. Ungrateful boy! I saved him money, did I not? After all, without my friendly gesture, he would have had to pay for a cab…

I have just enough time to sneak in through my secret entrance around the back and make my way to my hiding place behind the mirror in their suite.

After a short while which seems to last an eternity, the door opens and my heart almost stops... but it's just the porter, carrying the bags. And behind him comes that upper class idiot, still complaining. There is a small brown haired boy behind him, carrying his parcel. Good. My assistants have done exactly as I requested. And then…

She enters. Eleven years since I have seen her… What would I have given to see her disembark from the ship! But here she is, as beautiful as ever, with her chestnut curls and her blue eyes. And that sad smile…

No, she is not a child any more, that is for sure. She has known much sorrow recently and that innocence I loved is surely long gone. But she is still my Christine, my angel, and it is as if the last decade never existed as I stand there, unseen, my heart fit to burst within my chest. She is here... She is here… Yes, at last…

My reverie is interrupted by that husband of hers, complaining about Coney Island this time. Well, he makes a few good points, I'll give him that much… My goodness, is he always this cynical? He was so youthful and full of life in those far off days at the Opera House. The years have not been kind to him, that's for certain. Christine is trying to calm him down; no doubt she does that a lot these days. The flowers that were left for her in the room have cheered her up briefly but I know she is putting on a brave face. And the vicomte is so engrossed in his own self pity that he hardly notices that his son has unwrapped my present. A monkey playing the piano. Just something to amuse the child, although it has another purpose as well. The little vicomte quickly figures out how it works and seems fascinated by the simple toy. It plays two tunes and it's not playing the one I want at the moment, but perhaps later? Only Christine will recognise the second one... A little piece of foreshadowing for her, before I make my entrance.

The child is begging his father to come and play with the toy, but that idiot is refusing, hardly noticing how much he is upsetting his son. He walks out, with Christine begging him not to drink any more. How dare he? Married to Christine and he heads straight to the bar? He's only just set foot in America and he's drinking already! The way he spoke to her…Even in those few minutes I felt angry enough to make an early entrance and give him a piece of my mind. And ignoring his son! No doubt the child is used to that kind of treatment, poor thing; I can tell by his resigned sadness, as he sits on the floor with his new monkey toy. The vicomte is actually making me feel sorry for a child I've never officially met.

It is Christine who comforts him, despite her own sadness, as he asks if his father loves him. My Christine... Yes, of course she would be a good, loving mother, how could she not? She even looks at the toy with him, although she probably has no interest in mechanical things. He seems like a bright, curious boy. Surely his father should be explaining these things to him? How can he neglect his own child like this, when he's fortunate enough to have a child in the first place? His mother sings to him, to try and soothe him... and he is not the only person moved by her song. After all these years… Just a simple melody but it is enough for now, enough until she finally sings my music for me again in a few days time. Her gentle, slightly saccharine piece is about looking with your heart, not with your eyes, and I know from her wistful tone that the words have a deeper meaning for her. Her son leans against her as they sing together and my heart feels strangely warm as Christine puts her arm around him. My own mother would never have dreamt of holding me like that, never…

I watch them together, the mother and son who clearly have a close bond. There seems to be no nanny with them, although if they had one in their employment they probably can no longer afford to pay her. But somehow I can just imagine Christine wanting to raise her own child, and it seems very likely from this scene that this is the case. At least they have each other, regardless of what that fool has done to them. That child... as well as his mother's talent for singing, he has inherited her gentleness, and her smile, indeed his lower face, particularly around his mouth, is much like hers. But his eyes, his nose, his hair... they are not the vicomte's... How interesting. His appearance may come from a previous generation; such genetic leaps can happen occasionally, or so I've read. I became interested in this area of science to try and discover how such a beautiful woman as my mother could have given birth to someone like me.

The boy's name is Gustave. Of course. After his grandfather. Just before he goes to get ready for bed, he winds up the toy again. Yes... let her hear the tune... The other one, the one from long ago, fills the room, just as I hoped. And it has worked. A few seconds of confusion and then the moment of recognition… Yes, you know that tune, do you not, my Christine? But you never thought you would hear it again, did you? Listen to it… The tune ends, and only now does she dare to even move. She examines the toy, turning it around, confusion written on her face... but does she know? Does she realise yet? Placing it on a table, she manages to compose herself but looks around the room warily. Yes, it is me, Christine, if only you would allow yourself to believe it…

Shortly afterwards, she joins her son in his bedroom and as there is no two-way mirror there, I cannot watch them. But no doubt she is talking to her little boy, perhaps singing to him again... all the things my mother never did. I cannot lie. I have been deeply affected by what I have seen here tonight. But it has not changed my mind; if anything, it has made me more determined to win back my angel once and for all. And the child – Gustave – shall live here with his mother and be raised as my own, away from his drunken father.

She will be mine soon, come what may. No doubt she will be angry, hurt, perhaps a little frightened when I reveal myself to her. But I believe that she already knows who Mister Y is, deep down. Oh vicomte, when you stormed out and left your wife alone did you realise that you were handing me a perfect opportunity? Such irony… And now it is time to finally claim her as my own.

Time to end this charade, my love, and fulfil your destiny by my side…

**I've always thought that Erik would be watching this scene and wondered what he would think. Please review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Here's Chapter 3 - let me know what you think! Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed so far - you are all amazing and I appreciate your encouragement.**

**Hope you all have a happy and blessed Easter.**

She has rejected me.

I cannot think straight, cannot even breathe as I sit in my lonely Aerie, putting off the moment when I must return to that cold, tiny apartment opposite. Perhaps I will sleep here, as I often do; I hardly care where I sleep tonight, such is the emptiness I feel inside. This cannot be happening. She says will sing for me and then she will return home – with _him._ All these years of dreaming, of hoping, of wanting her with me… All the times I dreamt of walking by her side down the promenade, of sharing my world with her… Now all I have is my cold, sterile automaton which mocks me with its sheer lifelessness... Oh my Christine…

She was frightened when I emerged from my two way mirror, just as I thought she would be. Frightened – and angry. Yes, perhaps I deserved her anger. But then, she accused me of trying to "claim" her when she is a mother and a wife. _Oh, now I am a monster again? Someone you recoil from?_ I thought bitterly. Anger surged within me because there was once a time when she did not protest at my presence. I reminded her angrily that it was_ she_ who sought me out on that long ago night, when everyone thought – or presumed –I had been killed by the mob in my lair. She knew, you see. She knew in her heart I was alive and even told me of how she asked all the cab drivers around the Opera House. A woman, a girl and a masked man – not many groups fitting that description, after all. She tracked me down to that decrepit inn on the outskirts of Paris where Madame Giry and her daughter had smuggled me while they arranged passage to America. Yes, the night before she wed that idiot, she came to find me.

I reminded her of that night we spent together, the first and only night of intimacy that I have ever known. No, she did not protest that night, or shrink from me in fear as she did earlier. And she has not forgotten, for she thinks of it still and has no regrets, just as I have none. We spoke of how I had to leave her, how I was too ashamed to let her see me in the daytime and how I slipped away while she slept.

And she rejected me. Chose to continue this façade with him, rather than admit her true feelings. She will leave me, just as she left me in that cellar to go with him, just as I once left her. I will be alone again, having to be content with dreaming of her, my sweet Christine…

No! I will _not_ accept this! There _has_ to be another way!

I need to think. I need to breathe properly, to pull myself together. So much to think about, to plan! She will not leave me; that is for certain, but how can I win her back now?

And there is something more immediate, more practical that I must think about, although my mind and emotions are jumbled at present.

That child, Gustave. When he had a nightmare, he ran to his mother and she comforted him, of course. We met properly then and I told him I could grant any wish, thinking I would give him a free turn on the ride of his choice. But he wants to see all the mysteries of the park, all the secrets... That surprised me. He seemed so intrigued by the idea, just as I would have been at his age. How unusual for a child of his social class. True he has all the manners and bearing of a nobleman's child, but there is more to him than that. Even in the few minutes he stood before me, I could see that fascination and awe in his eyes. Not just of me, but of the world he has found himself in. Perhaps.. Yes, perhaps I shall give him what he wants?

It is strange. Now that I have met the child in the flesh, my interest in him has deepened. The moment I shook his little hand I felt drawn to him somehow. And those eyes... the way they looked at me... The most disconcerting thing was that they seemed oddly familiar, for some reason. All the mysteries of the park, yes, all the darkness. The public are drawn to the colour and spectacle, you see, and this child clearly wants to see more. I could see it in those eyes, although he did not speak his thoughts aloud. Yes, he shall come to my Aerie tomorrow and see it all...

How on earth did the vicomte produce such a child? They are nothing like each other, in any way. And Christine, yes, she was fascinated by my world below the Opera House and all my treasures there, but her fascination was always mixed with fear. And then when she took off my mask… No, this child is different from her, in that respect anyway.

Now that I have something to look forward to, even in the short term, I return to my empty apartment, although it is merely the place where I sleep and occasionally eat. My night is restless, my sleep almost non-existent. But thankfully I can thrive without much sleep anyway. In the morning I go straight to my Aerie, where the Trio arrive shortly afterwards. All of them are in silver and black outfits today, with either stars or crescent moons adorning them. Miss Fleck is wearing some kind of bizarre black and silver eye makeup – honestly, where do they get their ideas from?

"Thank you for your kind service yesterday to the de Chagny family," I begin and they bow or curtsey, as appropriate to their gender, "They are deeply appreciative of your efforts, particularly the Vicomte, no doubt."

They cannot control their laughter, and I allow them to tell me of that journey from the docks to my hotel, a rare moment of shared amusement for all of us. But I still manage to remain somewhat detached, as I always do; they are employees, not friends, even after all this time. They agree that the vicomte is rude and unfriendly and I remark about how badly he has treated his wife, with his drinking and gambling. While I am talking, my eyes are drawn to Miss Fleck as she bites her lip and bows her head, and suddenly I realise what she was running from when she came here. How did I not figure it out before?

"Thank you for delivering the parcel to Gustave, the young vicomte. I believe he is very grateful for it and thank you also for keeping him and his mother amused on the journey. But there is one thing I need you to do today."

They agree, as they always do, and wait expectantly.

"I would very much like Gustave to have a tour of my Aerie today." They look a little uncertain at this. "Last night I promised that I would show him all the secrets and mysteries of Phantasma and I am a man of my word, as the three of you know. Of course, like all other visitors, he has no idea of where this place is. Therefore you will escort him here to me, and he will see all that he wishes to see, here in my domain."

Mr Squelch speaks up.

"Sir, I believe the vicomtess will be in rehearsals for most of the day, so she will not be able to-"

I wave away his objection.

"Mr Squelch, I believe I did not mention the vicomtess. She will not be getting a tour, as I feel this is not…well, not something that she would enjoy. And besides, I wish for the boy to see all this alone, without anyone to interfere."

They look at me as if I have spoken a foreign language. Finally Miss Fleck speaks up.

"Sir, you wish for the boy to come here alone? Without his mother?"

"Indeed."

"Will she allow that?"

"It is unlikely, to be sure, given the recent turn of events... Therefore, you must go to him when he is alone and invite him along. But make sure he comes."

All three of them are staring at me, making me slightly irritable.

"Go to him as your characters. Wait until he is alone. He is bound to get bored of the rehearsals after all, he is only young. He may need to go outside for fresh air, for a glass of water.. He may just wander off to explore while his mother is busy... No matter what the situation, find him and tell him I want to see him. Do whatever you can to bring him here."

"You want us to lure him away? To this place?" Dr Gangle asks.

I let out a sound that sounds like a growl and clench my fists. Why are they being so tiresome all of a sudden? Why can't they just do as I ask, without all these questions?

"Yes! That is what I am asking!" Taking a deep breath I manage to compose myself. "Then, when he is here, you will, of course, go to his parents… no, perhaps just the vicomtess, now that I think about it. Tell her where her son is and bring her here." I pause briefly. "Did you think I was going to keep him here forever as my prisoner or something?" I chuckle a little too loudly and they look frightened at this sudden change of character. "The great Mister Y, keeping a child prisoner! Can you imagine the newspaper headlines?"

They try to laugh as they glance at each other in confusion but all of them look relieved when I return to my normal self. Soon afterwards, they leave for the park, and to figure out the best time to find Gustave. Now I must select and prepare my creations for display, here in my workshop. All must be ready for when the little vicomte arrives.

Perhaps I have overestimated him? Perhaps this will scare the life out of him and Christine will be angry with me. But perhaps... just perhaps it will waken him up to a world he can never have imagined. Either way he will never forget his trip to Coney Island.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you to everyone who has been reading, reviewing and favouriting this story, especially new readers. A lot of people have been waiting for this chapter, so I hope you all enjoy it! It won't be exactly the same as it is in the musical though, particularly towards the end - more specifically, the dialogue won't reflect the lyrics exactly but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. And of course, please let me know what you think!**

He will be here soon, the little vicomte. He will be brought here by my… assistants? Perhaps I should think up a proper title for them, but it hardly matters at the moment. If only they would hurry! What is keeping them so long? All is ready and I cannot wait to see his reaction. Best of all, no matter what his response is, Christine will be coming here to get him and I will see her again.

I never thought I would invite anyone here, certainly not a visitor and most certainly not my old rival's child. The Trio only come here in the course of their duties. Madame Giry and Meg are here regularly of course but that is hardly the same. In any case, I hardly recognise either of them any more. Who is that bitter, resentful old woman who only comes here to harangue me? Where is the idealistic young girl who rescued me from the gypsy fair all those years ago? And Meg seems to have a different gentleman friend every week; where is the innocent young dancer who whispered and giggled and planned midnight feasts with my Christine? Coney Island has changed us all; no doubt about that.

But enough of this! I can hear the door shut on its spring and now there are several sets of footsteps coming up those stairs. There are advantages in having excellent hearing and I stand at my desk as I hear the child asking his companions where he is going. Is he afraid, I wonder? They are urging him to hurry and the footsteps are getting closer… Yes, here they are, emerging into the darkness of my Aerie and I see each of them nod almost indiscernibly as the boy emerges behind them.

He calls them back as they begin to descend, and I wonder if he wants to flee, but he is only asking if this is where I live. Sometimes it feels that way, little vicomte… Now they are disappearing back down the staircase, leaving us alone. Good. Everything is working out perfectly, just the way I like it.

He looks around at his surroundings, glancing fearfully at everything. _What is he thinking?_ I wonder as I walk towards him. He takes a step back when he sees me and I tell him not to be afraid. Afraid.. yes, of course he is afraid; what child wouldn't be when they are brought to such a dark place? I should have known…

Trembling, he asks me what this place is.

"This is my realm, my young friend. I call it the Aerie. This is where art and music and beauty reign. All my illusions are created here, far above the crowds and the noise below."

It is clear that he did not expect to be brought to such a place, but still, perhaps he will find something here that he likes? After inviting him to look around, I return to my corner. There are some designs that need to be finished off, but I am too occupied in watching this child and his reaction to my world. One of the first things he sees is my beloved piano. He asks me if he can play it, which surprises me.

"Does the young vicomte play?" I ask him. Well, no doubt there is a piano in the chateau, perhaps he is going to play some simple drawing room piece that he has been taught. I walk towards him, intrigued. All his fear is forgotten as he plays a simple scale... and then he begins to sing. Such a beautiful voice! How could it be otherwise, with Christine being his mother?

"Beautiful... It's all so beautiful…" he sings. I do not know this simple melody and question him about it.

He tells me that it is a song in his head... He tells me of how he often has songs in his head, just as I do! He looks so wistful, so engrossed in the music... yes, I know how he feels, having no choice but to play the notes I hear. And those eyes, all that longing inside them... Why are those eyes so familiar to me?

As we talk, it turns out we share the same love of music, and of creating it… I can feel his deep desire to create, to play his music and I confide in him, in this child, of how I can only create what is in my heart here, in this Aerie. Yes, this child is ready. He shall see everything.

I lead him from the piano. Still hesitant, still a little fearful... and yet he allows me to show him my most prized automatons, my skeleton, my skulls, suspended from the ceiling, my monkey playing the piano and other creations that began in the dark corners of my mind. And he is not afraid!

This child, Gustave, I cannot take my eyes off him. He looks at everything, things that others would fear, and calls it beautiful, just as I do. He plays the piano as I do, he hears music in his head, he wants to see the dark corners of my park... and then there are his eyes...

Fear grips my heart as I realise why I know those eyes. They are my own.

Unable to voice what I am thinking, I stand before him, gripping his shoulders. He tenses and stares at me, wide eyed, but everything rests on him.

"Gustave, how old are you?" I ask. _Please, prove me wrong, this can't be true..._

"Ten," he replies with a gasp, and with that one word all my certainties collapse around me, everything I once believed about myself.. No, no this isn't possible! But it is almost eleven years since Christine and I spent the night together…

"No! It's not possible! It isn't possible! And yet..."

And yet, when I watched him play the piano and heard him sing, it was me... It was like looking at myself... Except...

"It can't be... it can't…He is beautiful, too beautiful…"

I collapse to my knees in front of him. Yes, he is beautiful. Surely I could not have... I didn't think it was even physically possible… I cannot think straight as my heart pounds in my chest, hard enough to burst. He cannot be mine, he cannot… I could never have produced this lovely child!

I look at him. The poor child is terrified, and it is no wonder. I have to calm down, to breathe properly. I have to know for sure. I have to ask him questions that I have never asked anyone else. Trembling I take his hand again and lead him around the room, showing him old automatons, old designs, everything I have.

I ask him about the thoughts and feelings he has, about longings and things which both scare and excite him. I ask him if he has ever wanted to leave behind the normal world and explore the darkness. All the things I have felt, all the things that, along with my face, have separated me from the rest of humanity. Until now.

He feels the same. He too can see the beauty underneath. Both of us can. We are facing it here together. Yes, he is still bewildered by everything but that is because it is so far removed from his everyday experience. Until now he has been alone in these thoughts, but now... Now I understand everything. Why I felt so drawn to him, why I sympathised with him so much, why we have so much in common.

He is part of me.

And he can look at all this, he tells me. He is not afraid. No he is not, I can see that. And if he is my own, and if he can truly see the beauty underneath, then it means that there is someone on this earth who will look at my hideous face and love me. My own son…

"You brave, brave boy," I tell him, "You can see the beauty underneath!"

Here is the moment I have waited for my entire life. Oh, to see those eyes look on me in love...

All of heaven and earth seems to pause for the briefest moment as I remove my mask.

His eyes widen in terror and he screams.

My heart splits in two as he runs from me screaming, trying to get away from me. _No! No!_ _Oh Gustave, I thought you were ready... I thought you could look at me... _

Just as I want to fling myself on the floor and weep, a shadow emerges into the room and catches Gustave. It is my Christine… and he holds on to her, sobbing about the horrible monster as she comforts him. Yes, that is all I am, is it not? I should have known… How could I be so foolish as to think the boy could love my face? Even... my own son. My own son…

Christine sends him away with Miss Fleck, who has accompanied her here and now she is walking towards me, apologising for Gustave's reaction, completely unaware of my discovery by the looks of things. Well, it looks like we have much to discuss. I did want to see her again of course, but even I could not have foreseen this confrontation.

"Did you think I wouldn't guess?" I ask and her bewildered expression angers me. "Have you something to confess? If you have, tell me immediately!" I demand, and she looks at the ground, ashamed. Now she understands…

"It is true," she begins, after a long pause, "That night, the night we shared... I conceived. I bore your child and raised him as Raoul's. But Gustave is yours, angel, and I have spent all these years hiding that fact. I had to. I was married to Raoul; he was a well-respected member of the community – until recently, at least. I have hidden the truth from Gustave too, and you have no idea how many times I wished that he knew you. But it was impossible, you must see that."

I am in shock. I have a child…

"My own flesh and blood… My child... _Our_ child... yours and mine…"

"He is like you in so many ways, Erik. I have seen so much of you in him- his love of music, his imagination, his passions. But... I never meant for the truth to come out like this, never."

"You mean, if I had never invited you here, you would have continued to raise him as your husband's child, watch him become a vicomte and kept the truth from him?" My tone is harsh and sarcastic but I hardly care, such is my confused state of mind.

"Erik, please, I couldn't have told him. Not in the world we live in. He believes Raoul is his father and this is the way things must stay."

The room seems to be spinning. How is it that the great Mister Y has been caught off guard in this way? "I have a child. _We_ have a child. Don't you see? This changes everything!" I exclaim. She is frightened at my words, but I continue regardless. "You and Gustave will not have to endure the vicomte's mistreatment any longer, nor will he continue to raise my child as his own. You shall both live here with me and we shall raise him together, at last. You will want for nothing, either of you. I had always intended to allow him to stay with you, but it will be different now. We will be a family, a real family, just the three of us. He is ours, Christine!"

But she looks away sadly.

"No Erik, this can't happen. I am married to Raoul, don't you understand? I married him the day after you left me alone and in all those years you never once contacted me. You have no right to do this to me." She looks at me with such anger and my heart is suddenly aching with sadness. "But... I will keep our agreement and sing for you at your concert. I will give it my all and then in the morning, we will go _home." _I wince as she emphasises that word. "My husband, my son and I. They are my life now, not you. And I love Raoul."

I don't believe that last sentence. She couldn't possibly love him, not now. Anyway, he is not the father of her child and has no legal rights over the boy. Surely she would not do this to me?

But she is indeed leaving, that much she is certain of. I cannot bear this. My own child cannot look at my face and my Christine will not stay with me. I can hardly bear to listen to her angry words as she chastises me for sending the Trio to lure Gustave here without her. I daresay I deserve that, now that I think about it rationally and, drawing myself up to my full height, I adopt my professional demeanour, telling her that I take such things seriously and that yes, such behaviour is unacceptable in a family attraction like Phantasma.

She is chastened somewhat, although no doubt the Trio will inform me later of the earful they received from her when they told her about where they took Gustave.

When she has left, I slump into a chair, hardly knowing what to think. I have a child... and Christine will take him away from me. And I cannot forget that look of fear and that scream, and the way he ran from me. Just as his mother once did.

There is nothing more to live for. For nearly eleven years I have thought of my Christine and now she will leave me again. My son fears and hates me.

But surely I cannot give up. I have much more to fight for now. There must be a way of winning her back, of winning them both. They are my family… Sitting around mourning and crying will not achieve this, and so I launch into one of my latest musical creations, desperately trying to think of some way of making sure my family stay with me. But the sheer hopelessness of my endeavour is pressing down on me and before long I slam down the piano lid and cry the tears I have been fighting ever since I heard that scream.


	5. Chapter 5

Tonight my Christine will sing for me again. All these years I have waited for this moment…but first I must wait a little longer while everyone else performs. Thankfully Meg's troupe is finished now. Did I really write that nonsense? Again and again I have despaired at what I have become. But not tonight. Tonight my music will soar again, in front of this audience of New York philistines, and Christine shall soar with it. Tonight our bond shall be sealed for evermore, and nothing in the world can change that.

And so I wait behind the scenes, patiently waiting her arrival on stage. Mr Squelch and Miss Fleck are as popular as ever and then there's that magician... what was his name again? And that new fellow, the juggler, is his name Pedro or something? Oh, hold on, that might be the magician's name, now that I think about it…

Well, none of that matters now. In just a few moments my angel will be on a stage again, where she belongs. How well I remember her debut in Hannibal and how nervous she was! It feels like only yesterday, and I wish it was. Oh, my patrons out there in the audience! You will have seen nothing like this in your little lives, I can assure you. This... _this_ is music, not the vaudeville trash you are so accustomed to!

There he is, my old rival, wandering around in confusion. Look at him, wondering what to do next. You've lost, my friend. She is going to sing for me! Our…friendly chat last night has unnerved you, hasn't it? How could you not have realised the truth about Gustave? Or perhaps you did and you have been hiding from it all along. You are so predictable, vicomte. Ten, nearly eleven years ago I knew you would pursue me to my lair to try and rescue Christine. And last night I knew you would be drowning your sorrows in a bar. Not just any bar, but the seediest one you could find, away from all the crowds and attention, was it not? The bar at Suicide Cove...yes, an aptly named landmark for sure and there was one occasion when even I... no, best not to think about that. Think only of the present, of what is about to take place.

There is my child wandering around backstage also, unaware that I can see him. Has he any idea of the new life that awaits him? At least he will have his mother; that will make things easier for him. And for me too; after all what do I know about raising a child?

And now I wait in the wings. Aha! There you are, on the opposite side of the stage, looking on desperately. You are still hoping that she will change her mind, aren't you sir? I heard everything that went on between you in the dressing room of course and you were as pathetic as ever, even with your neatly combed hair and clean shirt. You're never going to be enough for her, not even if you gave up drinking for life. She needs her music. She needs _me_. I have finally put her necklace around her neck. I have pleaded with her, told her of the beautiful, perfect blend we will create on that stage tonight. She misses that. She always did you know, while she was sitting listlessly in your drawing room playing bridge or meeting interminably dull people at those parties that your class insist on throwing.

You have seen me. You see me and you know that I was there, listening to you both, don't you? I can see it in your eyes. But you shouldn't be surprised. I am everywhere. I was everywhere at the Opera House and even in this very different setting nothing has changed. You should never trust a mirror, my boy, they don't always tell the truth.

I wish Dr Gangle would stop eulogising about her and let her sing. Not that I don't agree with him of course, but for goodness sake, let her- ah, here we are.. And after the applause and some whispering, coughing and some infernal fidgeting the audience in my theatre finally subsides into a hushed silence as the curtain pulls back. If anyone makes a noise during this song I swear I will eject them personally… But thankfully they are respectfully silent as my angel stands before them, wearing my necklace and the dress I provided for her. She is just as beautiful as I imagined she would be on this night.

I wonder if the audience can hear the beating of my heart?

She begins. That voice... Oh, be still my heart! Here are the words I wrote in my Aerie during those lonely years, all the time thinking of you and how you would sing them. And now, at last... Your voice is still perfection, my love, and it will soar with all the music I will write for you in our life together. Yes, concentrate on the words... they are all for you.

And now the chorus... and she understands. Love never dies... My love for you has never died, my Christine, you know that now, don't you? Let your voice soar, yes, reach for those high notes! The audience are transfixed. They cannot take her eyes off her. Neither can I. Have you any idea how long my heart has ached for this moment?

I tear my eyes away long enough to realise that the vicomte has gone. Long gone? I have no idea and it hardly matters now. He must have gone to the docks to board the Atlantic Queen, just like he was imploring his wife to do. He knew, you see, once she sang my music she would be mine forever. Her and our child.

Her applause is astounding and shocks even me. They love her! They love my Christine! Well, they will be getting to know her well from now on, not just here but in the rest of New York, and beyond. A new career awaits you my dear, as well as a new life. Yes, enjoy your applause. You will be getting a lot more those from now on. How I wish I could join her on stage as tears of happiness trickle down her cheek. She is surprised, overwhelmed... _happy_. Finally, finally she is happy…

They love her. And they love my music, my _real_ music. Finally I too am free, free to be who I really am. Both of us can be our true selves now, free of conventions or the expectations of others. We will be together always, and our child of course. I will have a family at last…

I must hurry to her dressing room now, to congratulate her on _our _success and finally claim her as my own.

Unlike the vicomte, I only bet on certainties.


	6. Chapter 6

**Here's the sad chapter - hope you like it! I probably won't be continuing this story for much longer - probably for another chapter. All reviews are welcome!**

I cannot make sense of anything. Perhaps this is all a dream. Or a nightmare. Perhaps I will wake and all this pain will end. Perhaps.

The room is spinning and I cannot think any coherent thoughts. Ever since I first bought Phantasma, I have been in control of my life and of everything around me. And now I am not. There are only two things I know for certain. This first is that tonight I kissed my Christine after all these years. Twice. And the second is that I will never kiss her again.

Oh my Christine! Surely this is a cruel joke, played on me by a cruel god who has never ever wanted me to have even a scrap of happiness? All the hopes I had... She came here. I saw her again, spoke to her, heard her sing for me again…

Yes, she was like an angel, just as I knew she would be. And everyone loved her. And then, when I went to her dressing room she was almost in a trance, telling me how beautiful my song was, how wonderful it was to sing again, to become lost in the music…

We kissed. After all these years, she kissed me again and for those brief moments the rest of the world ceased to exist. It was like the last decade had never happened. We were as one again, and I have never felt so happy.

We were so lost in each other that we did not see the note on the dressing room table, but Christine saw it at last and read it aloud. From her husband. He had left, just as I thought he would. He told her that their marriage was over, that they had been romantic fools in those days in Paris, that he hoped she would be happy with her Angel of Music…

It was all as I had hoped. He was gone, and Christine was staying with me. And yet… I did not feel as happy as I should. I listened to her read the letter and something stirred within me as she wept. She was sad – how did I think she wouldn't be? They were childhood friends; of course, she would be upset that he had left her. I comforted her as that feeling stirred within me; religious people would probably call it a conscience. But she was mine, in those brief moments, mine alone…

Then... Christine panicked, and so did I – this was not what I had expected. Gustave was missing! He was supposed to meet his mother here after her performance... Where was he? This was new to me; the knowledge that a child – my child – was missing and I felt an overwhelming urge to protect him. The word spread rapidly. Madame Giry insisted she had nothing to do with this. After I ranted about the vicomte taking the boy, Mr Squelch informed me that he had left alone.

And then Miss Fleck came to us, sheepish and afraid. Meg... Meg Giry... She had broken her mirror in a fit of temper and taken him... "She knows!" Madame Giry cried hysterically, "Meg knows the boy will get everything! Why did I tell her? Oh, what has she done?"

We searched. Hand in hand, Christine and I searched the promenade for our boy, accompanied by the Trio, Madame Giry and a few others. I knew. I knew they would be on the beach, not the sandy part favoured by tourists, but out by the rocks…

I will never forget that frantic search, trying to comfort Christine while calling for our son. And then... we saw them. Or at least Meg, holding my son under the water from a large outcrop of rock, her face utterly deranged…

She stopped when we called to her and released the child. Somehow, he managed to wade through the shallow water to where his mother was standing, almost hysterical with fear and he clung to her, dripping wet, apologising between his tears.

All these years... I never guessed the things that Meg told us tonight. About how she earned the money for me to buy Phantasma, while I was being kept captive in that freak show. Or how she continued to support me, worship me, wanting me to notice her. And I never did. All those men she had taken money from, all the things she had allowed them to do to her… For me. And Phantasma. Oh God, I have been so blind, so very blind! Madame Giry was right…

She has changed beyond all recognition. She has changed from that innocent child, dancing at the Opera House, into what we saw tonight – because of _me_. I did this to her!

And then she produced that pistol. My own pistol, which she must have stolen from me. I don't care about it any more, the police can keep it forever for all I care. All I know is that she pointed it at herself, all the frustration and sadness of this last decade finally spilling over. She mocked both Christine and Gustave with undisguised hatred, and I watched as both of them stared at her with tears in their eyes.

I tried. I tried to reason with her, to tell her how sorry I was. I stood between her and my new family, with Gustave still clinging to his mother, while Christine tried to reassure him. I told her how I understood now, how lost and neglected she must feel. She calmed down. She lowered the gun. Christine began to release Gustave, while still keeping one arm around him. It is possible that everything might have turned out all right. My angel might have been sitting here with me right now. But then I spoke again.

"We cannot all be like Christine, you know."

Damn fool! Trying to calm Meg down, and still I am thinking of Christine! Stupid, selfish fool...

"Christine! It's always about Christine!"

The gun went off. Even if I live to be a hundred, I will never forget that sound. And I will never forget my foolish words.

The bullet hit my Christine and I watched in horror as she slumped to the ground with blood on her beautiful dress…

I cannot describe my grief. It has yet to sink in. _Surely this cannot be happening?_ I told myself as I held her, our child uttering a low moan, people running for help, shouts at a distance… I cried, I cried gut wrenching sobs in front of her, without shame. But my true grief will come later, when I know what "forever" really means.

Gustave was panicking, looking for his father. But despite her weakness Christine told him the truth and I could not even open my mouth to stop her. She begged him to look with his heart, like in the song they had sung together.

He knew at last that I was his father – and he screamed and ran away from me once more. My heart broke for a second time, thinking that he will never accept me, not even now. And still I held Christine and sang to her. I thanked her, for all the love she showed me, more than I have ever known. She was so beautiful, even with her life ebbing away.

Gustave returned and Christine reached out for him. She whispered how sorry she was for not telling him and that she would always love him. Then, she placed his little hand in mine and begged me to look after him.

No! How could she ask me this? I could not possibly raise him alone; we were supposed to be bringing him up together!

"I can't! What will I do?" I cried, all the time thinking _I don't know anything about children, I am the last man on earth who should be given a child…_

But she begged me to love him, and give him all I could give him. And I said yes, although everything within me wanted to say no. My angel... so trusting, even now… How could I deny her anything?

We kissed for the second time that night, and now I know those lips will never touch mine again. She died right there in my arms and I felt like I was falling down a deep, deep hole, with no end. She looked so perfect in death, as in life.

And there was my boy, our boy, Gustave, looking at me with infinite sadness. We stood and looked at each other for a long time. The poor boy was in shock, unable to take anything in. He came to me and tried to remove my mask, but I knelt before him and removed it slowly. Then I looked down at him, into those eyes that are so like my own. Never did I think I would ever look upon my own likeness... well, almost my likeness. He did not run from me this time, instead he just looked at me in sadness and pity. This is my boy, my child... and Christine has asked me to bring him up for her. What will I do? I cannot even think that far ahead, not yet.

I am tired, apart from anything else. I have spent hours answering never ending questions and filling in endless forms, first in the mortuary, then in the police station. Meg Giry is a gibbering wreck, constantly weeping about how she didn't mean to do it. She keeps asking if they can go back to Paris, to the Opera House... Something has snapped within her, something that can't be fixed. At the moment all I can think about is that she has taken my Christine away from me forever. And I did this to her. Christine was caught up in a feud between the two of us, a feud I did not know even existed and now she is gone. She is lying alone and lifeless in the mortuary tonight, when she should be here with me, with_ us_.

Miss Fleck very kindly agreed to stay with Gustave while I was occupied with formalities and now she has returned to her own home, leaving my apartment in silence once more. I wonder if she regrets not intervening sooner. But no-one could have guessed what was going to happen, not in a million years.

And the vicomte... Raoul. I have never seen him look so old or so haggard. We have even made polite, formal conversation tonight amid all the chaos. He arrived on the scene just after his wife died and I gave her to him, so that he too could hold her. For the first time, I did not hate him. I just watched helplessly as he held Christine and Gustave laid his head in her lap. We stayed that way until the ambulance arrived and I could do nothing to comfort either of them. But Raoul and I spoke together, out of necessity, and as it turned out we both felt it was best to bring the child back here to sleep for a while.

And so, he sleeps in my bed tonight, or at least he sleeps as much as he can, given the circumstances. A child who has lost his beloved mother. And what can I do for him? How on earth will I be able to comfort him? He is so lost, so vulnerable. He neither spoke nor resisted as I carried him up to my apartment, still in shock, still unable to understand what happened or why. That poor boy...

There is still a heart beating in this chest. I know that now. It grieves for my Christine but it also beats with love for my new found son. Will he accept me? True, he did not run from me on the beach but what now? What will happen when he wakes up? I feel so helpless, so alone. How can the great, powerful Mister Y feel like this? All the things I have accomplished – buying a decrepit amusement park and turning it into Coney Island's top attraction, the shows at my theatre, my success as a businessman.. Nothing has prepared me for being a father.

I stand and watch my son as he sleeps peacefully at last. My boy… There is something else I know for certain. I love him. And for now that is all I can offer him. I hope it will be enough.


	7. Chapter 7

**This final chapter is set a few months later at the end of Gustave and Erik's first Christmas together. It's partly based on Chapter 12 of The Past is Another Country. Please review, and thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far!**

A year ago I would never have thought such things possible. Today I celebrated Christmas properly for the first time ever, and tonight a beautiful child – my own child – sleeps in my arms.

No, such things should not even exist but they do. He lies next to me, his head on my chest, so trusting and innocent. My boy. How my life has changed since he came to me!

Today we celebrated with the Trio, who I never thought of as friends before. Indeed, I hardly gave a thought to how they spent their free time, or how they celebrated holidays. They were merely servants, employees, occasionally a source of amusement. But now I am slowly beginning to get to know them, just as Gustave is. I am so grateful to them for the kindness they have shown to Gustave since Christine's death and their efforts to cheer him up with their song and dance routines, as well as their repertoire of funny voices. Miss Fleck in particular has been wonderful and has been trying to teach him some of her acrobatic routine. As I watch them together it does my heart good to see my son happy.

The poor child. I know how he hates being pitied in the town by well-meaning store clerks and women of a certain age who pat his head and tell him how brave he is. It worries me that he struggles to make friends and settle in at school. I think I would have been the same, but for **very** different reasons. But he works hard and his English is coming on in leaps and bounds, which is a huge advantage. Thankfully the bullying he endured at first has stopped; his teacher just had to be reminded of how much her students' parents rely on my park, either directly or indirectly, and she was jolted into action.

Having him here has turned my life upside down. Every day I am greeted with new challenges and new routines. Getting him up in time for school, making sure he has everything he needs for the day, preparing his breakfast and his lunchtime sandwiches… And escorting him there, the two of us walking together hand in hand, is something else I never dreamt of.

Then there are the evenings and weekends, when he needs to be fed. I have never eaten much but children seem to need so much food! As well stocking up for breakfast, lunch and dinner, I try to keep some fruit in the apartment in case he gets hungry between meals. In the summer there will be countless food stands open in the park and around the promenade and no doubt he will persuade me to buy him a few treats.

We have taken trips on the train together to Manhattan and other districts, which he loves. He cannot get enough of travelling by train, over the Brooklyn Bridge, and sees it all as an adventure. I have never thought of it that way before, but his curiosity and excitement are infectious. He clutches my gloved hand as we stroll down busy streets together, as if terrified of losing me in this vast city. As if I would ever abandon him!

People are still the same; pointing, staring, whispering together, trying to pretend they haven't seen me.. If only I didn't have to go out in broad daylight so much! But I am not just living for myself any more and Gustave cannot be expected to live in darkness. He is so much like me and yet so different too, having had a loving mother and a relatively happy childhood. I cannot lose my temper with ignorant people in front of my son, much as it pains me to remain quiet. I am used to the unwanted attention, but he is not, and I know he sometimes feels awkward when he is with me.

He misses his mother and talks of her often, which I encourage as I love hearing about those years we were apart. My angel was such a loving mother and so devoted to her little boy. All the things they used to do together… However, it infuriates me to learn of how Raoul treated her towards the end, and how he brought home so-called friends to gamble and drink with him. How dare he bring such people anywhere near Christine! But despite all this, and although Gustave doesn't tell me as much, I know he misses the chateau itself and certain aspects of his old life; it would be surprising if he didn't. He needs Christine, that much is certain, and I know he struggles to understand why Meg did what she did. He still has nightmares about that night and still cries for his mother. I think there is a part of him that will always need her.

This is not the first night he has climbed in beside me, but it is the first he has done it of his own accord, without tears or nightmares being the cause. Such a lovely, kind boy... How could a child raised by my angel be anything else? He has kissed me. He has kissed my unmasked face, although I know he was nervous the first time. He smiles at me, shyly, hesitantly... We look at books together, with my son turning the page eagerly and asking endless questions about the particular subject, and yet, sometimes I also see that faraway look in his eyes and I know his mind is elsewhere…He always kisses me goodnight now, and looks forward to me coming to sit with him, armed with stories and songs to lure him into sleep. I know that I will have to be both a mother and a father to him, and I hope that I can do justice to both roles.

Lately the past has been troubling me. I have been having nightmares too, not just the usual ones about my early years, but about Joseph Buquet and Piangi. I keep seeing their grotesque faces as they died at my hands, long ago in my other life. Dear God... Both of them were childless as far as I know, but what if they hadn't been? Would those children have cried every night for them, just as Gustave cries for his mother? Would this little boy lay his head on my chest like this if he knew what I once was?

_Was_. Yes, the Phantom must die. For how could I ever put a child through the pain that my own son is going through? How could I be the same man I was, when I have seen murder from the other side? I am a father now and all has changed, beyond recognition.

There is so much I want to tell my son about my life. But not yet. He is too young, too innocent. Perhaps I will never tell him everything, but he needs to know the truth about certain things one day. I can only hope that he will still love me.

I hope he continues to settle in and adjust to this new life, which is so unlike his old one. And in time he will make friends, perhaps have a best friend that he can play with at school and at the weekends. From what I can gather, children seem to enjoy playing in each other's houses and going to birthday parties. Not that I would know from experience…But there is still a selfish part of me that hopes he will stay with me always, that he will not seek out any other company but mine. After all, do I not lose him for several hours already while he is at school?

But no, I cannot think like that. He was not raised alone in an attic room or in a cage. He needs to be with others his own age, away from my self-contained world of music and peculiar inventions. He is my own flesh and blood and we have much in common but he is still part of the world, in a way that I could never be.

One day he will be a child no longer. He says he will be eleven in March; I knew right from the start that I would not have him as a little boy for very long. One day he may want a new, different life away from Phantasma. Perhaps he will marry, although he doesn't seem to think much of girls at the moment. He can walk down a street without being stared at. He can live wherever he wants, without comment. He does not need to hide away here in an amusement park.

I cannot think about losing him just yet, not when we still have so much to learn about each other. And in any case, that day could be years away. Tonight he lies beside me, safe in my arms and I must be content with that. He nuzzles his cheek against me in his sleep and I hold him closer, my precious boy, who has already taught me so much about the world, without knowing it. The world itself may not have changed but now I see it through his eyes.

And yet… How I wish I could be holding Christine instead! Is it wrong to feel that way? But she is gone forever and although my heart still aches for her, she is still here, in a way. Her kindness and gentle spirit live on in this child. She is gone, but she has entrusted me with her most precious treasure, and I will always take care of him, just as she asked.

I cannot help gently brushing a strand of hair away from his eyes, before kissing his forehead tenderly. He stirs a little and wakes to look at my unmasked face. Sometimes I can see him flinch a little, but only a little, when he looks at it. But now he smiles at me and blinks his sleepy eyes.

"Go back to sleep, child," I tell him gently.

"Will you go to sleep as well?" he asks sleepily.

"Yes, I will sleep too, very soon, my love. Now close your eyes."

He obeys, and just before he falls back asleep he speaks the words I never thought I would hear.

"Goodnight Papa".


End file.
